


Greener Pastures

by MythicallySnappy



Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: Fluff and Smut, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Sexual Content, magic mushrooms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-01
Updated: 2016-11-01
Packaged: 2018-08-28 10:50:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8443015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MythicallySnappy/pseuds/MythicallySnappy
Summary: Ben said that they’d sprout like clockwork on the morning after the first frost.  He said that they grew freaking everywhere in the fields around Buies Creek and that less than a handful would send them flying high over meadows and mountaintops.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Rhink Fall Ficathon 2k16](https://rhinkficathons.tumblr.com) using the prompt _the first frost_.
> 
> If you like a soundtrack to listen along to, I can't recommend [Heron Oblivion](https://youtu.be/a6JlKhxX4Tc)'s self titled album enough. It's soft, indie psychedelia at it's best.
> 
> As always, a million thank-yous to the the Salt Bees, [Amanda](http://archiveofourown.org/users/amanderjean/pseuds/amanderjean) and [Lauren](http://archiveofourown.org/users/pringlesaremydivision/pseuds/pringlesaremydivision), for being outstanding beetas, terrific co-mods, and even better friends. Love you guys. Oh no, I'm getting sappy.
> 
>   
>   
> [[img](http://charlestongrit.com/help-save-angel-oak)]

     It was Ben who had planted the seed in Rhett’s head sometime in the middle of October. He’d told them that they’d grow nestled in grassy cow pastures, even sometimes coming right out of the cow pie itself. They’d have a nippled, pale brown cap and dark gills, with a white stem that’d bruise blue when touched. He said they’d sprout like clockwork on the morning after the first frost. And he said that they grew freaking _everywhere_ in the fields around Buies Creek and that less than a small handful would send them flying high over meadows and mountaintops.

     And so they wait. They wait until the dark morning air grows cool, until their breath escapes them in evanescent clouds of condensation and the delicate brush strokes of frost paint the windshields of their cars. Dead leaves crunch under their feet, blowing across Harnett Central’s schoolyard as they walk across the parking lot, exchanging knowing looks and glances. This is it. Today's the day. Classes seem to crawl by— mind-numbing arithmetic and endlessly repetitive grammar exercises. It seems like the final bell will never toll, but when it does, they race out to their vehicles and devise their game plan. They both ditch their cars at home and meet up halfway on their bikes before heading out to the fields.

     Their pasture is radiant in warm tones of yellow and red and orange, leaves aflame and grass a dull mossy green. Cows graze in the distance along the border of the electric fence, thankfully unperturbed by their presence. Their shoes sink into the soft, wet ground; squelching as they lift their feet.  
     “So they’re just supposed to grow wherever?” Link asks, bent at the hip and eyes flicking wildly over the bovine-trimmed grass. The frayed hems of his baggy jeans drag over the muddy ground, slowly absorbing the dirt and moisture.  
     “Yeah, I think so,” Rhett replies, his hands braced on his knees as he leans forward. “They should definitely be here.”

     It doesn’t take long before Rhett’s shoe skims against the first patch of wild mushrooms; a half-dozen or so with mis-matched heights, artfully arranged in a little circle.  
     “Link, look!” Rhett calls, excitement hitching in his throat. He crouches down next to the tiny fairy ring, eyes wide in anticipation. Link shuffles down next to him, their knees brushing together.  
     “Think those are the right ones?” he asks. Rhett reaches down and pinches a pale stalk between his fingers, watching closely as the white flesh blushes a rich navy where he’s crushed it.  
     “I’m not sure,” he says softly, gently plucking the long, thin stem up from the grass. He holds it up to the sky, surveying the shape against the warm, autumn sun. It sure seems right, the pale, tan cap curls in at the base and pinches in at the top, the gills a dark brown— almost purple. “Yeah— yeah, Link, I think this is it.” He delicately collects the little liberty caps in his palm, careful not to crush them.

     Ben was right, and once they know what to look for it seems like they're _everywhere;_ nestled in tufts of grass around cow patties and growing out of decaying wood. It isn't long before each boy has a heaping handful of the tiny little magical mushrooms in his palm. They sit next to each other on the trunk of a fallen tree on the boundary of the woods, working up the courage to drop the little psychedelics down the hatch.

     “So you’re just supposed to eat ‘em?”  
     “I guess so, man.”  
     “This is gross, dude. You actually want me to eat something that grows in cow dookie?”  
     “I mean, why not?” Rhett asks with a chuckle. “Lots of things grow in cow dookie. Peanuts, corn, tomatoes”—  
     “I hate tomatoes.”  
     “Yeah, well,” Rhett laughs, his eyes creasing in the corners. “All kinds of stuff.” Link grimaces with his eyes crossed as he focuses on one he held one up by the stem just inches away from his nose.  
     “I don’t really like mushrooms either, man,” he says, spinning the little toadstool in his fingers around like a top. “At least they’re not all cooked and slimy.”  
     “Come on,” Rhett says, a smile toying on his lips. He picks up a mushroom from his palm by the stem and holds it out to Link. “It’ll be fun.”

     Link shakes his head but smiles all the same, gently touching the cap of his mushroom against Rhett’s. He waits until Rhett takes the first bite before popping his own his between his lips, sucking the stem down like a strand of spaghetti. He gives the fungus a few tentative bites before making a disgusted moan.  
     “Tastes like dookie,” he says. Rhett laughs, carefully chewing over his own mouthful.  
     “It’s earthy,” he says, bringing another mushroom up against his lips. “Just kinda tastes like dirt.”

     Link finds himself unable to swallow the wad of plant matter in his mouth, so he slowly stores it in his cheek like a chipmunk as he chews, adding mushroom after mushroom between his lips. It’s not really the taste that really bothers him— it’s a mixture of texture and anxiety that fills his mouth. They’re fresh and they’re slimy and the stalks are fibrous so Link just closes his eyes chews and chews and chews. Rhett doesn’t seem to struggle with them, so in a final act of bravery, Link closes his eyes and forces the bolus down his throat, fighting to suppress the urge to gag. Rhett laughs when Link sticks out his tongue to prove that he’s swallowed his portion.

     The sun shines a blazing orange as it filters through the sparse leaves on the trees, patterns of light dancing on the grass in front of them.  
     “How long’s it gonna take?” Link asks, his stomach doing flip-flops. Rhett’s long fingers stroke his chin, his index and thumb skimming over the hint of a beard that’s taking a frustratingly long time to come in.  
     “I dunno,” he says, picking a rogue piece of mushroom out of his teeth with his tongue. “Maybe half an hour? Ben never really said.”

     They sit a while on the tree trunk, exchanging grievances about their classes and homework. Link idly picks apart a stick, flicking the shredded tinder into the grass in front of them while Rhett’s knee bounces up and down, his fingers tapping on his thigh; legs restless. He suggests they get up and walk around, hoping that an easy stroll might quell his racing nerves and the butterflies in his stomach.

     They walk along a worn path in the grass, one they’ve stomped down a million times before. Each step brings them closer to an unknown destination, and butterflies in their stomachs turn into pterodactyls. Link sighs as he looks up at the light filtering through the canopy, the leaves staining it gold and amber and ruddy. _It’s beautiful,_ he thinks, _exceptionally beautiful._

     The grassy trail leads them to a grove of ancient oaks. Brilliant orange leaves pad the ground beneath their feet, muffling their footsteps. The branches are twisted and thick, some so heavy that they’ve settled onto the ground under their own weight. Link begins to climb the broadest oak of all, his hands and feet hooking easily onto the low branches. Rhett’s right behind him, he can hear him, but neither says a word until they’ve climbed high enough to peer out over Buies Creek. They find a branch that’s sturdy enough to support the both of them and take a seat; long legs dangling in the wind. Link closes his eyes and takes a deep breath through his nose. The air is cool but he can smell the subtle scent of decaying leaves and smoke wafting from a campfire miles away. The leaves in the canopy shiver and shake, whispering in his ears.

     “I _feel_ it, Rhett,” he says under his breath. It’s the psilocybin that he means, although he’d never be able to put a name to it, but it isn’t the only thing that he can feel— he can feel the tree swaying beneath him, _breathing,_ he can feel it’s _heart_ beating.  
     “Me too,” Rhett says. “This _tree,_ man,” he carries on, “it’s like I’m a part of this tree.” His fingertips press into the branch, nails biting into the rough skin of its bark. “Maybe it’s a part of me.” Link nods, he knows _exactly_ what Rhett means. The tree is warm, it’s comforting and it’s _alive._ It’s more alive than he’d ever realized before; a whole being— an entity.

     Link feels like he can see a thousand miles into the distance, his vision sharp and precise. He can spot a broken twig on the ground from thirty feet up and he feels like he can pick out every single leaf in a five-hundred yard radius. A flock of warblers soar by them, their silhouettes dark against the amber sky, flowing and pirouetting like a troupe of airborne ballerinas.

     They sit in a comfortable silence, in mutual awe of the world around them. Link’s certain that he’s fully under the effect of the little toadstools, but feels remarkably in control of himself. There’s rapidly cycling peaks and valleys— he’s stone sober one second and completely whisked away the next. It’s like a surreal lucid dream; knowing and strangeness all coupled into one. He’s glad Rhett is perched on the branch next to him, his companion in a reverie.

     The breeze stirs again and a fresh north wind blows through the leaves, sending a chill down Link’s spine. The tree’s heart is beating again, and the branches shake and sway along with it.  
     “We should get down,” Link says quietly. Rhett agrees and they begin their slow descent. It’s always tougher going down than up, and Link can see Rhett hesitating. His hands are unwilling to relinquish their hold on the branches above. He knows he’s afraid, that he doesn't like heights. Link doesn’t mean to look down, but he does, and the forest floor seems like it’s three hundred feet below them, falling steadily. He takes a deep breath and reaches up to place a pacifying palm on Rhett’s calf. “You can do it,” he calls upward. “One step after the other.”

     Link makes it onto solid earth first, letting out a sigh of relief when his feet sink into the spongy soil. Rhett’s moving slowly but he’s not far behind, and Link puts his hands on Rhett’s hips to guide him. Rhett smiles and hugs Link when he finally makes it, burying his nose into Link’s hair. They both laugh, the warmth of each other soothing the bitter chill of the wind. Link rests his head against Rhett’s chest and he can feel Rhett’s heart beating. It’s louder than the tree’s, and perhaps a bit more rapid, but it sounds startlingly similar, organic and _real._ Link thinks Rhett’s probably part-tree too, and it makes perfect sense, he’s tall and he’s thin and he’s got arms that could span a county. He’s strong and powerful and he’s got a quiet poise and grace about him that Link admires, even if he’d never admit it to Rhett's face. When they break apart, Link shudders at the loss of heat but there’s a tugging in his gut that lets him know that they’ve got to carry on.

     As the sun dips lower onto the horizon, the shadows grow long and the light fades. The forest looks different in the low light, but it’s not scary. The trees and brush are vibrating with life, pulsating and shifting and blending into one another. They follow the sounds of a babbling brook; it’s quiet chatter permeating the forest. The ripples in the water shift and dance, flowing around stones and branches. Link gets lost in the shifting currents, mouth agape in awe and wonderment. The stream is alive too, moving and flowing and it speaks in garbled murmurs. Rhett reaches down to touch the water and Link gasps as the brook moves around his fingertips, flowing patterns and fractals emerging from the point of contact. Rhett's laugh mimics the chuckle of the river, throwing his head back and exposing the perfect white parabola of his dental arcade. He laughs until tears form in the corners of his eyes, and Link can’t help but laugh, too.

     “This is awesome,” Rhett chokes out between guffaws. “It’s like I’m a part of the whole world, y’know?” Link nods.  
     “Yeah man, I know.” he replies. “I feel like— it’s like I’m seeing with my mind. Like I’ve been blind this whole time. It’s like I don't even have eyes anymore.” Rhett’s expression softens and he moves closer to Link. His pupils are blown, the pale ring of his olive irises razor-thin.  
     “But you do have eyes,” he says, moving closer to Link’s face, studying him. “I can see ‘em.”  
     “Can you?” Link says, but he’s consumed by Rhett’s face just inches from his own. His dark brows are arched and frame his lovely round eyes, his nose is straight and his lips look soft and pink and moist. He leans closer, lost in the texture of his lips, the way his breath feels warm across his face.  
     “Yeah,” Rhett says, but he speaks so quietly that his mouth barely moves. “I can.” And suddenly Rhett’s lips are on Link’s and it’s perfect, it’s beautiful and it’s real and it’s alive. It’s like they’re connected, two trees in a grove or two warblers in a flock. He feels like they’re two pieces of a puzzle, finally coming into place or two parts of the same person. It requires no explanation, no questions or comments. It’s feels good and it's _right_ and Link wonders why they haven't been kissing all along. Link closes his eyes and patterns swirl behind his eyelids, starbursts and fireworks; a shifting kaleidoscopic paisley. Rhett’s hands slide around his middle, settling on his lower back and he can feel the energy flowing from his palms into his body and his lips are electric and his hair stands on end and a shiver goes down his spine. It’s a sensory overload but he’s relaxed and comfortable and _happy._ It’s like the best dream he’s ever had.

     Rhett’s tongue touches his own and he can feel every single little tastebud under the slick layer of saliva. Rhett tastes exactly like he thought he would, but magnified— a thousand times stronger. Link’s arms wrap around his neck and he lifts himself up onto his tiptoes and it’s like he’s climbing another oak entirely. He feels like his heart might burst, it’s pounding in his chest and so is Rhett’s and he can feel that too— it’s just like the tree’s heart.

     When their lips separate, Link can’t suppress a laugh. His face is barely an inch from Rhett’s but he smiles as wide as his lips allow, and he laughs and laughs, like all the joy in his body is spilling out through his mouth. Rhett laughs too, his cheeks pulled into round little bulbs, and his eyes gleam in the fading light. Rhett braces Link’s back with a splayed palm, and dips Link back like a tango dancer, setting the pair into a slow spin. The wind blows around them, scattering crumpled leaves around their feet. The leaves rustling in the trees give their muffled applause, a standing ovation, and Link feels like a co-star in a grand theatrical production of their own creation.

     His blood is pumping through his veins and he remembers that there’s a bit of Rhett’s blood in there too— transfused through a slit in his palm in the balmy, dog days of summer three years ago. Three years had passed but time is just temporary and the oath they made that day, in that same pasture, means as much to Link today as it did then. Rhett’s a part of him and he’s a part of Rhett, and nothing can ever change it— they’re eternally bound together by their scars, their blood, and now, by a kiss in an oaken grove.

     When Link finally stands upright he’s stopped laughing, but he doesn’t think he could wipe the smile off his face if he tried. He takes Rhett’s hand in his and leads them down a dark path. He knows he’d be too scared to go alone, but Rhett is with him and Rhett is strong and fearless and he knows nothing can happen to him if Rhett’s along for the ride.

     The trail is lined with trees, papery birches and striated maples. Link stops to examine a silvery patch of lichen on a trunk, his fingers gently caressing the leafy foliose. He looks closely and it’s beautiful— a beautiful growth on a beautiful tree in the midst of a beautiful forest. Rhett’s looking too, his fingers laced in between Link’s and his other hand smoothing down the rough bark. They’re lost in wonderment, the macroscopic world of life on this one tree, this one tree out of thousands, like an entire universe at their fingertips. A universe connected to a billion other universes; the forest, Harnett County, North Carolina and the entire world. And Rhett and Link are universes too— hosts of their own bacteria, their beating hearts, their minds and souls and everything that makes up each boy, separate and together.

     The path leads them to an old barn, probably out of use but not certainly. Link doesn’t love the idea of going inside any building when the nature around them is so beautiful and foreign and spectacular, but Rhett’s eyes are gleaming again and he nudges him in the ribs. Link lets himself be pulled in, his dilated pupils easily adjusting to the darkness. The smell of the barn is distinct and familiar, but different too, hay and dust and dry wood settling into their clothing and onto their skin. Rhett laughs beside him and Link lets out a gasp as Rhett’s big hands press against his chest and push him backwards, clean off his feet and rear-end first into a pile of hay. Rhett falls in beside him, laughing harder at the shocked look on Link’s face. The straw pokes through Link’s clothes, scratchy on the bare skin at the nape of his neck and on his lower back where his shirt has risen up.

     Rhett swallows thickly, and suddenly he’s not laughing anymore. His eyes lock with Link’s and the sound of his breath is deafening— ricocheting off the rafters and into Link’s ears like he’s got a megaphone. Rhett little pink tongue darts out between his lips Link can’t look away even though the walls behind him are melting; shifting and pulsating. Tiny beams of moonlight filter in through the dusty window pane and illuminate Rhett’s skin and the freckles on his neck dance around in little circles. Link reaches out to touch one, and he hears Rhett pull in a sharp intake of air. Rhett takes Link’s wrist in his hand, bringing his hand up against his lips. He presses tiny kisses into each of Link’s fingertips, his mouth soft and gentle. When Rhett drops Link’s hand, he leans in to connect their lips, and it’s like fireworks all over again. Like the scatter of birds in a forest after a gun’s been fired or a stone thrown into a still lake.

     Link seeks out Rhett’s tongue and when he finds it, he lets out a quiet hum. It probes into his mouth, careful but not shy. They lick into each other and even though his eyes are closed, he knows the barn is alight in a million colors, more than the naked eye could ever dream to see. Rhett’s hands slide down Link’s chest and up the inside of his raised t-shirt. They feel warm on his stomach, impossibly warm, warmer than a volcano or the surface of the sun. He’s never felt more alive; his heart is pounding and he’s a tree. A creek. A patch of lichen. He’s a million things all at once and so is Rhett and when he sheds his shirt and Rhett’s thumbs circle his nipples he shudders and shakes like leaves trembling in the wind. Rhett’s lips run up the sharp angle of Link’s jaw and his teeth latch onto his earlobe. Link gasps like a crooning warbler.

     They don’t need to speak when their lips speak a million words for them. Their palms whisper and their fingertips moan. Rhett’s hands are so big they wrap around his waist and they fit him like a glove; his buzzed hair feels like the lushest patch of moss he’s ever dreamed of raking his fingertips through. The straw beneath them should be uncomfortable, little stalks poking into Link from every angle, but it isn’t. It’s rough like bark and smooth like the shifting surface of a stream and it’s _alive_ and it's real.

     Rhett rolls on top of him, long legs straddling his narrow hips, and he’s heavy, pushing Link deeper and deeper into the straw. It’s like he’s sinking; slip, slip, slipping further down, but Rhett’s there and he could never drown if Rhett’s there, so he arches his head up and wraps his arms around Rhett’s neck for dear life like a personal flotation device. Rhett breathes into him and if he wasn't alive before, he certainly is now. He can feel Rhett’s weight pressing down on him, and he knows his blood, _Rhett’s blood,_ is redirecting in his body and his pants are tight and Rhett’s are too.

     Even though Rhett rolling his hips against his own is the greatest thing he’s ever felt, it’s easy to get distracted. Those barn walls have been melting this whole time and the entire room is starting to fill with liquid. The straw sometimes feels a bit like like coral on the bottom of the sea and, oh, Rhett’s nibbling on his collarbones and leaving a wet trail on the way to his bellybutton, and oh yeah, _this_ is what’s happening.

     Link lifts his hips and his jeans and his boxers slide easily down his legs, and when Rhett’s lips touch the tip of his cock he lets out a quiet scream. There’s too much sensation, far too much, for one body to process in a single moment. His back arches and Rhett’s lips open up and it’s so wet, it’s wet and it’s warm like a hot spring and when Rhett’s tongue slides up the underside of his shaft, shivers ripple up his body. Rhett bobs his head and Link can’t help but thrash around; his fists clutch desperately at the hay and at Rhett’s shoulders and there’s bits of straw flying everywhere like a flock of warblers. They’re swimming past him in the vast aquarium of the barn and for a second he feels like he might drown— until Rhett presses a kiss into his hip and then his lips are on his own again and finally— finally he can breathe. Rhett’s hand slicks him up and down and Link’s eyebrows knit together and he kisses Rhett, he _kisses_ him with every fiber of his being, and he can tell that their universes are melding together as his own hands blindly seek out Rhett’s zipper.

     Rhett feels heavy and warm and throbbing in his palm and he can’t help but dive in for a taste, too. He wiggles and squirms and Rhett’s hand is still on him, and _gosh,_ it’s good. Rhett’s cock stands up proud from his stomach; it’s thick and strong just like Rhett is. And if Rhett’s a tree, his cock’s a branch, another living part of him; it's alive and it’s heart is beating too. Rhett’s blood, _Link’s blood,_ all trapped up in veins and arteries and capillaries and Link can feel it pulsating on his tongue; a rhythmic thrum. Link’s not sure what he’s doing but each of Rhett’s moans and groans sound like a symphony— the perfect orchestral accompaniment to the grand theatrical production of their lives— of this moment. When he slides his lips around the tip, Rhett sighs and it’s like the swell of violins. When Link bares down and Rhett touches the back of his throat he gasps and it’s like the flutter of flutes and when Link sucks his cheeks in and a steady string of _ohs_ and _mms_ slip from Rhett’s lips it’s like cymbals and drums and Link has to hold back a smile because he’s playing Rhett like an instrument.

     Long fingers weave through his hair and they’re slithering like snakes but Link’s not afraid. They slide down his neck and a hand cups his cheek and Rhett pulls him against his mouth again and they laugh into each other, panting breaths and weak sighs and it’s euphoric bliss— the collision of stars and galaxies. He can taste Rhett’s joy and he’s sure Rhett can taste his own and he opens up and swallows it all down.

     Link knows he’s close, he’s so close that he can barely take it. Rhett’s hand slicks him up and down and it’s warm and wet and he does the same to Rhett. They kiss and it’s like Rhett’s tongue is speaking a hundred languages inside his mouth— he’s speaking languages he’s never heard of. He’s speaking tree. Warbler. Creek. Lichen. Rhett’s wrist twists and that’s it, the final straw on a pile of a million straws, and Link comes. His vision flashes in colors he’s never seen before, light and dark and every shade in between, and then some. He grips Rhett tight and he can hear Rhett grunt but he can’t see him past the kaleidoscope in his eyes. He can feel Rhett’s sticky warmth gushing over his fingers and Rhett presses a million kisses into his temple and Link can feel Rhett’s heart pounding through his chest.

     They breathe for what feels like eons— it’s impossible to know how long they’re there but the barn’s sprung a leak and they aren’t submerged anymore. There’s straw in their hair and stuck to the sweat on their skin but it might as well be a fur rug because it all feels good.

     They move when chill of the autumn evening permeates the barn. Link’s comfortable; almost asleep but enjoying the spectacle of birds and leaves and water rushing behind his eyelids. Rhett nudges him and he realizes he’s cold. They don their jeans and flannels but they feel stiff like burlap after wearing nothing but the silk of one another’s skin for so long.

     Rhett can’t keep his hands off Link as they walk. He wraps his hands around Link’s middle from behind and peppers Link’s ears and neck with kisses. Link’s laughing but he’s tired. He’s happy, but his body is spent, even though his mind still dancing in the leaves and along mossy trunks. When they reach the pasture, Link outright refuses to get back on his bicycle. He’s not coordinated enough to pilot the thing, and he’s not sure his trembling legs could power it. Rhett smiles and concedes so they walk down one final wooded path back to the road.

     There’s a crossroads, and Link knows Rhett should go right and he should go left. He’s scared to go on alone. The road is dark and the street lamps are too infrequent. He wraps his arms around Rhett’s neck and buries his face against his chest. Rhett’s so warm, he’s so comfortable and so safe and Link’s heart might burst with all the love it contains.

     “Don’t go,” Link whispers into Rhett’s shoulder. “Come with me.” He didn’t expect it, but he’s emotional, and there’s warm tears collecting in the corners of his eyes. He can feel Rhett craning his neck, looking both ways down the road.  
     “Yeah,” he mumbles into Link’s hair, smoothing the dark strands down with his palm. “Of course.”

     They shed their burlap sacks when they reach Link’s bedroom. His cotton sheets are soft, but not as soft as one another’s skin. They curl up in each other and they’re alive, they’re perfect, they’re real and they’re one universe amongst a million. They’re part of each other and part of the world, and when Link finally drifts off to sleep, he dreams of Rhett in technicolor.

**Author's Note:**

> A few things to note:
> 
> Firstly, this fic depicts incredibly dangerous (and also very stupid) mushroom picking etiquette. Never **ever** consume any mushroom if you aren't 100% sure of its identity. "Looks right" doesn't even come close to cutting it. Get yourself a field guide, or better yet, bring along a friend who knows what they're doing. Some mushrooms are toxic enough to quickly shut down your liver and kidneys so never take that risk.
> 
> Secondly, the species of mushroom described in this fic doesn't even grow in North Carolina, and after doing a little bit of research, I realized that "the first frost" qualifier is actually just a bit of local mushroom-related lore to where I live. Even so, I couldn't let this prompt slide by without writing this fic, and I suppose it's fiction anyway.
> 
> And, as always, I treasure your comments, kudos, questions, likes and reblogs so much. You can find me on tumblr [@ratchetrhink](http://ratchetrhink.tumblr.com)! Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed!!


End file.
